This Day and Its Offerings

Cold blue

the Arctic sky

a wand of golden sunrise

strokes the cylinder of seed

swaying in the wind

(a frigid -15)

and the red-headed woodpeckers

faithfully appear,

the finches, puffed to twice their size

to warm their gilded wings.

The day is entered

before my dreams

have fully laid to rest,

such that I watch an icon

taking form, the visitation

of gold and angels and altar,

the eye of God in a snowbound,

merciless world,

attending ever to the gifts:

Epiphany.